The Last Moon Queen

Chapter 2 Scars Beneath the Silk

Inside Victoria s veins, the strange silver heat refused to die down. She hid in the pantry until the boots of the Valorian guards stomped past the kitchen. They were cursing loudly, confused about how a roaring pine fire could turn into cold charcoal in just a few seconds.

​Victoria pressed her back against the stone wall, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her right hand moved instinctively to her right shoulder. Beneath the wool of her dress, her skin felt unnaturally hot. The crescent-shaped birthmark, which had been nothing more than a faint, pale line since her childhood, was now throbbing with a soft, persistent warmth.

​She pulled her sleeve down slightly, her hands trembling so hard she could barely grip the fabric.

​In the dim light of the pantry, she saw it clearly. The mark was no longer pale. It was glowing. A delicate, silver crescent moon pressed into her skin, shining like liquid starlight beneath her flesh. Every time her heart beat, the silver mark pulsed with light, casting long shadows against the sacks of flour around her.

​"No, no, no," Victoria whispered to herself, quickly pulling her collar up and tucking the fabric tight around her neck. "Stop it. Please stop."

​If anyone saw this mark, it would mean her death. In the Kingdom of Valoria, any person who possessed magic outside the royal family was considered a threat. But a mark that glowed silver—the colors of the fallen, destroyed Kingdom of Elaria—was far worse than simple illegal magic. It was high treason.

​Outside the pantry, the kitchen was in total chaos. Servants were coughing from the lingering smoke, picking up dropped pots, and trying to make sense of what had happened.

​Old Martha was sitting on a low wooden bench, her face pale and her breath still coming in short gasps. Two younger maids were helping her drink water, but Martha kept her head down, her eyes fixed strictly on the stone floor. True to her word, the old woman did not say a single word about Victoria or the silver light that had swallowed the flames.

​"It was a miracle!" one of the young kitchen boys shouted, his voice high with excitement as he pointed at the cold fireplace. "I saw the flames reach the ceiling! And then... poof! It just went dark! The wind must have choked the fire out!"

​"Nonsense," Master Thomas growled, shoving his way into the center of the room. His fat face was covered in black soot, and his red beard was singed at the tips. "Fires do not just die on their own! Someone spilled wet sand on it, or the chimney flue closed!"

​He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the trembling servants.

​"Where is that lazy girl?" Thomas barked, his eyes landing on the shadows of the pantry. "Victoria! Get out here now! The floor is covered in ash, and the lord's breakfast is an hour late!"

​Victoria swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to slow down. She grabbed a rag from a nearby shelf, wrapped it around her hand, and stepped out of the pantry. She kept her head low, her shoulders hunched forward to make herself look as ordinary as possible.

​"I am here, Master Thomas," she said softly, keeping her voice completely flat.

​Thomas glared at her, his eyes narrowing. He walked over to her, his boots making loud thuds on the stone floor. He stood right in front of her, leaning down so close that Victoria could smell the stale ale and sweat on his breath.

​"You were standing right next to the hearth when the wood fell," Thomas said, his voice dropping into a suspicious growl. "How did you get out without a single burn on your skin? Look at your dress!"

​Victoria looked down at her clothes. The front of her dress was covered in black soot, but the fabric was entirely whole. Not a single thread was scorched. Her bare hands, which had touched the roaring fire directly, were completely unblemished—not even a red mark or a blister was visible.

​"I... I fell back, Master Thomas," Victoria lied, her voice shaking slightly despite her efforts to stay calm. "When the wood crashed, I tripped over a bucket and scrambled into the pantry. I was lucky."

​Thomas stared at her for a long moment. He reached out his hand, grabbing her by her collar to pull her closer.

​Victoria gasped in fear—not because of Thomas, but because his hand had brushed right over her right shoulder. The moment his skin pressed near the glowing mark, a sharp, cold spark of silver energy shot through her sleeve.

​Thomas flinched violently, ripping his hand back as if he had been stung by a bee.

​"What in the name of the King..." Thomas muttered, rubbing his fingers with a look of utter confusion. He looked at Victoria's shoulder, then back at her pale face.

​"Get back to work!" Thomas suddenly shouted, trying to mask his sudden unease with anger. "Clean up this mess! All of you! If this kitchen is not spotless in thirty minutes, I will have the overseer whip every single one of you!"

​The servants quickly scattered, desperate to avoid his wrath. Victoria grabbed a broom and began sweeping the cold black ashes from the floor, her heart still hammering against her ribs.

​She thought the danger had passed. She thought she was safe.

​She was wrong.

​While Master Thomas did not understand what had happened, he was a greedy man who loved to gain favor with his superiors. An hour later, while Victoria was outside in the cold courtyard scrubbing soot out of iron kettles, Thomas hurried up the high stone stairs leading to the main estate building.

​At the top of the stairs stood Lord Julian's estate overseer, Master Malcom. Malcom was a man with sharp features and cold eyes. He wore a fine velvet coat over his dark trousers, and he was never seen without a whip tucked into his belt. Malcom hated the common servants, treating them like worthless animals whose only purpose was to serve the Valorian nobility.

​"Master Malcom," Thomas said, bowing deeply as he caught his breath. "I must report something strange from the lower kitchens."

​Malcom did not even bother to look at the head cook. He continued staring out over the estate grounds, tapping his boots impatiently. "If it is about ruined bread, Thomas, I will deduct it from your wages."

​"No, sir! It is not the bread," Thomas said quickly, lowering his voice into a whisper. "There was a fire in the main hearth this morning. A bad one. The dry pine caught, and the flames reached the ceiling beams. We all thought the kitchen was going to burn to the ground."

​Malcom slowly turned his head, his eyes fixing on Thomas. "And yet, I see no smoke rising from the roof."

​"That is the strange part, sir!" Thomas insisted, leaning closer. "The fire vanished in an instant. Cold as ice in a heartbeat. But that is not all. The orphan girl—Victoria—was standing right in the middle of the flames."

​Malcom raised an eyebrow, his interest finally piqued. "The quiet maid?"

​"Yes, sir!" Thomas said eagerly. "Her clothes should have been burned to ash. Her skin should have been melted off her bones. But I looked at her myself, Master Malcom. Not a single scratch. Not a single burn. And when I touched her coat to check her, I felt... a shock. Like static lightning jumping out of her skin."

​Malcom's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. In the Kingdom of Valoria, stories of commoners walking through fire or showing strange immunities were not taken lightly. The King's inquisitors paid large sums of gold to anyone who reported unregistered magic users.

​"Where is the girl now?" Malcom asked softly, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his whip.

​"She is down in the lower courtyard, sir. Scrubbing the pots," Thomas replied, smiling greedily. "I thought you should know."

​"You did well, Thomas," Malcom said, tossing a silver coin toward the cook. Thomas caught it with a greedy grin and bowed himself away.

​Left alone on the balcony, Overseer Malcom looked down into the courtyard below.

​Far down near the stone well, he saw Victoria. She was kneeling on the freezing cobblestones, her dress pulled tight around her shoulders, scrubbing a kettle with a brush. Even from this distance, Malcom noticed how awkwardly she moved her right arm—as if she were trying desperately to keep her right shoulder turned away from anyone who walked past.

​A cruel, knowing smile spread across Malcom's lips.

​"A girl who walks through fire unscathed," Malcom whispered to himself, his voice cold and sharp as a winter blade. "Either you are touched by a demon, little maid... or you carry something that the King's scouts have been hunting for twenty long years."

​He pulled a small parchment scroll and a pencil from his coat. With swift, practiced movements, he wrote a quick message detailing the strange girl in the village of Hearthwood who had survived a roaring hearth fire without a single burn.

​He rolled the parchment tight, stepped into the estate ravenry, and tied the message to the leg of a black Valorian courier bird.

​"Fly fast," Malcom murmured, releasing the bird into the morning sky. "Take this to the High Palace."

​Down in the cold courtyard, Victoria stopped scrubbing for a brief second. A sudden, ice-cold chill ran down her spine. She looked up into the sky, watching a single black raven flap its wings and fly away toward the grand capital of Valoria.

​She pressed her hand against her right shoulder. Beneath her fingers, the crescent mark was pulsing faster.